


Godspeed

by taylorswift



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorswift/pseuds/taylorswift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's when he knows that she remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Godspeed

**Author's Note:**

> 1.06 centric  
> All that promo did was give me Ichabbie feels.

It pains him to look her in the eyes as he breaks the news to her.

He looks down, trying to avoid her gaze that’s desperately attempting to captivate his own eyes once more. “If I die, he dies,” he says, and as he glances back up he can see the tears flowing down her face. It’s colored with misery, and he immediately has to look back down.

He knows what it’s like to see her cry. He’s seen it before and the feeling left a horrible aftertaste. At the good sheriff’s funeral, he watched her from afar and he could see the essence of her grief running down her face under the shadow of her hat. When he felt her eyes on him, it was almost an apologetic smile he sent her way before making his way back through the array of tombstones.  He didn’t like to see her cry. Something inside of him clenched tightly, like he couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t stick around longer to see it. God knows that this time is no different.

This time, she isn’t crying over the loss of her mentor, her partner, the father figure in her life. She’s crying over  _him_.

He reaches out and extends his hand, which she almost immediately takes to his surprise. He can feel her pulse; it’s racing, and he can feel that clenching inside of him as he looks up to see her tear stained face.

He remembers that day at the sheriff’s funeral by the familiarity of the pain in her eyes. It’s just like everything else about her that his photographic memory allows him to remember about her. He remembers how her mouth stands slightly agape when she’s concentrating deeply. He remembers how she always looks at him whenever they know that they’re in trouble or that there’s a great chance something will go wrong, or when she’s scared; the look in her eyes is screaming that she needs for him to help her. She needs him.

He always loved the way she said his name, in fright or in need or even in irritation. And the way hers sounded even in his head seemed melodic. He remembers exactly how her eyes look when the light hits them just right and how he could easily get lost in them, constantly reminding himself that she was one who would call him out on it and embarrass him all the way into the next week. He remembers how she’d bite her lower lip whenever she was holding something back, whether it is another one of her quick-fire responses or some sort of emotion buried deep below the surface.

He remembers the one time they were strapped to the tables, preparing to face the Mohawk dream demon, and he looked over to make sure she was okay. It took him all of two seconds to snap his gaze back up to the ceiling. As the scorpion stung him, he remembered very clearly that he would have been perfectly content seeing her in that attire more often. It might have been the man in him speaking, but it was true. It wasn’t exactly his fault that the leftenant was more feminine than he had ever assumed. When they returned, seeing her glistening in sweat and her features more defined, he had to remind himself of his wife in order to not start drooling.

He remembers how he relies on her to survive this new world, and how she relies on him to keep her balance. That’s what they are to each other, the balance the other needs. He doesn’t want to lose her; he would do anything to stay with her and be the partner, the other hand to the next seven years of tribulations. They were called together for a reason. Ichabod Crane was not one to ignore fate calling, and he wasn’t one who put himself in front of the rest of mankind either.

Which is why he’s doing what he’s doing, sitting in here in front of the one person who filled his void when he awoke two hundred and fifty years into the future after learning of his wife’s death and captivity in purgatory. It’s why he’s sitting in front of the good lieutenant, telling her that he’s sacrificing himself. He wants her to be happy. He wants her to return to her old life and enjoy it once more, and not worry about the rest of the world. He doesn’t want for her to worry about him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, squeezing her hand once more as he locks eyes with hers. The light catches her eyes and for a moment, he wants to take back everything that had left his mouth. He wants to apologize and say he was merely joking—he’d even take the hit she’d probably give him and the temporary ignorance if it meant he wasn’t leaving her.  He’d take that a thousand times.

He closes his eyes, letting out a sigh as her hand still clings to his for dear life, not willing to let go. Everything flashes back at the feel of her palm against his, their fingers brushing as hers desperately grab for his. Her determination. Her strength. Her smile that he saw so much of, whenever she allowed her guard down. The way she would tell him things she’d never tell anyone in a heartbeat.  

He allows his eyes to meet hers, and for a moment, he can feel the strangling feeling inside of him. Everything that she was holding back came forth in her eyes, their sort of unspoken language, being shouted at the top of her lungs. “Godspeed,” she whispers.

That’s when he knows that she remembers.


End file.
